Chapter Text
"Cleric, watch out!" the paladin's sword sliced through the air, deflecting the volley of arrows aimed at the cleric’s back.
They had been fighting side by side for hours now, and their vigilance started to fade: they were tired and demoralized, the dark elf was nowhere near death yet.
"Shit!" the paladin whirled at his fight partner's wail, looking desperately for them with bated breath and terror in his eyes. Terror that intensified as soon as he spotted his friend on the ground, an arrow lodged in their thigh, blood jetting from it.
He ran towards them, ignoring the villain threatening just a few meters away in the air. He bent down and addressed them in an anxious voice: "We have to leave, you need medical treatment."
"No, are you crazy?" the cleric stated firmly, standing up with teary eyes from pain, "there's no time, we have to get rid of this being. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
"No? What do you mean by no? I can't leave you like this. We have to hide and recover strength. We won't be able to defeat it this tired, especially with you wounded."
The paladin was furious, how dare the elf touch and hurt his friend. They usually don't struggle with defeating villains, but that day they had been unlucky; the Mindflayer must have increased its followers. They had never fought against this obscure elf, and its moves grew more and more unpredictable every minute: it was too fast and seemed to be able to fire twenty arrows at once with inhuman accuracy. It was terrifying, but the paladin was sure they could make it. They always do.
The cleric winced. "Yes, thank you for the enlightening explanation. I too have eyes, but we cannot leave all these people at the mercy of an uncontrolled, mad archer to go do as we please."
"Do as we please? If you hadn't noticed before, you're bleeding. Bleeding. I refuse to leave you in these conditions."
"It's just a scratch, im–" his sentence was interrupted by a brand new volley of arrows, which the paladin quickly deflected, standing in front of the cleric with his bronze shield.
"Let me do something for you this time, my cleric." He gave them a charming smile and winked boldly.
He retrieved his sword and, with a sudden jerk, he hurled it at the elf, who, despite his sharp reflexes, couldn't completely deviate it. The sword wounded the elf in the leg and it fell, not completely defeated but neither completely sound.
In that instance of distraction, the paladin took in his strong arms the cleric, who was wriggling, screaming for them to be put down, and ran away, trying to put as much space as possible between them and their enemy, who was also unable to continue a fight for that moment.
The hideous elf had appeared out of nowhere that morning, terrorizing the city. He seemed unstoppable: the two fighters were struggling a lot more than usual. It didn't happen often, but recently the enemies had grown increasingly stronger and they were showing up with alarming frequency.
Sure, they had finally managed to wound it, but only after hours and hours of exhausting combat, and that was absolutely not good: they were supposed to be the city's protectors, not just two more tired and scared individuals who needed saving.
The cleric was injured, and the paladin was anxious for his friend’s condition and tensed by what their greatest enemy was planning. It was definitely something huge. At this rate, he didn't know how much longer they could hold out. It was their second fight in three days, and exhaustion was taking control over his body, even though he had greater strength and stamina thanks to the power of his transformation.
He had been running carrying the other for miles and minutes before finally stopping. Every single muscle in his body was bruised and sore: his legs were feeling heavy and his weightier armour seemed to dig in his skin. But he didn't give up: he couldn't, since his cleric was counting on him.
.
"Put me down, it hurts," scoffed the cleric in a serious tone, panting tiredly.
The two reached a narrow and isolated alley, hidden from prying eyes. The paladin set his friend down, careful not to cause them further pain. The arrow had lodged quite deeply in his thigh, making it impossible for them to walk.
"Hey, hey, look at me, Cleric," he uttered quite panicking. His companion's voice was so weak, they seemed to be on the verge of fainting. They were pale, and their lips greenish. The arrow was poisoned. "Don't you dare fall asleep. Listen to me, the arrow is poisoned, you have to help me here. Do you understand?"
He took their face in his hands gently, thumbs tracing their cheekbones delicately as he kneeled down to face them eye to eye.
"Hey?" he asked in a soft voice.
His companion grunted, their eyes nearly closed. It was the best sound he had ever heard, a breath of fresh air: at least they were still conscious, and for now, that was fine.
The paladin let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, perfect. If I remove the arrow, you should be able to heal yourself, is that right?" They nodded slowly.
The cleric of course had magic power, which included also the curative ones. They would be able to heal thanks to it but just as long as they stay focused and concentrated. For that reason, he calmed down a little, not anymore terrorized about his friend's state: although it wrecked his heart to witness them suffering.
He tore a strip from his thin red cloak and wrapped it around his companion's thigh, squeezing tightly to stem the blood’s flow. He grabbed the arrow, his other hand around the wound to dull the pain.
The cleric's soft whimper made the paladin's heart ache even more; it was a sound so dim it was barely audible even in the background still of the city.
He rarely observed his friend in such a fragile state: they were between his hands, their yellowish face twisted with pain. "Cleric, don't worry. I got you, you'll be fine," he tried to reassure them. "Stay focused for a few more minutes. You have to cure it, can you do that for me?."
The cleric breathed heavily. "Yeah..Yes, I can do that," they murmured as it was the most fatiguing thing they had ever done.
The paladin just stood there, watching them: he wasn't familiar with feeling so useless in such a dangerous situation. He stared fascinated as his partner’s veins turned vermilion from the healing magic their body was unleashing.
As his friend's face returned to its usual rosy coloring, the relief that coursed down his spine made each vertebra shiver. Or maybe it was just exhaustion.
He felt like he was sinking into the ground every minute that passed: he would have to remove his armor as soon as possible, otherwise it would possibly bury him under its weight, and he wouldn't be able to get up even with a dose of intravenous steroids.
He was sitting next to the other, their heads resting against the wall and their knees touching slightly, giving them both the comfort they needed in such a dangerous situation, their hands forgotten on the ground, fingers nearly crossing. The paladin could feel the warmth of the cleric's body even from afar: a result of their magic in action.
He stopped, listening to their inhaling and exhaling controlled. They rested silently there for minutes, as he was waiting for the cleric to get better.
In the dark of the alley, with trembling and nervous breath and looking away, the paladin slowly brought his fingers closer to the other's hand, slightly stroking their fingertips. Even though he couldn't feel their bare hands due to the gloves of the armour, he imagined his fingers tracing their skin without any covers.
In all those months spent together, they never touched, at least not skin on skin. The paladin armour protected and concealed every single part of his body. Occasionally, he's used to desiring to take something off. Just to feel them. Just to hold them with an authentic touch.
May be one day.
Secret identities had never weighed on him as much as in these situations. In the peace of the night, where there were just the two of them, he stopped wondering, his mind on his own.
He didn't consider the cleric just a "fight partner," they were truly his friend just as much as the Party; he would have liked to hang out with them at the cinema or at the arcade. He’d like to be able to ask them about their interests, their private life. He wondered what their room looked like, what they were majoring in, if they went to school. Normal things, conversations between two friends, and not as two individuals who only met each other in tough times.
He knew they were connected like anybody was, he could feel that in his bones and in his soul, but sometimes he would have liked to actually know them.
To know their favourite color and their favourite ice cream flavour; to know how they wore their hair or which color their eyes were; to know the real sound of their voice; to know if they had friends or a special person in their life; to know their dreams and ambitions.
He wanted to be a part of that too.
But he couldn't. They never talk about it. Their identities should remain a secret for ever. It hurt a bit.
He glanced at his friend, making sure they were still there. Still moving. Still breathing. With their eyes and skin still vivid.
He'd rather die than leave their side.
The stubbornness of his partner never fails to irritate him. A nice kind of irritation, an affectionate one. He couldn't believe his friend would eventually risk their own life to defeat the villain and save everyone.
He'd rather set the entire world on fire than lose them.
He couldn't afford to miss them. Not after everything they've done, not after everything they've been through. And this time, they got too close to accomplish that nightmare. Even though he knew they were safe, he couldn't help but still feel a bit tense.
Sure, the cleric had the power to heal them both if they were in a degenerative or life-threatening condition, but that didn't make every wound any less stressful. Anything could happen: they could be caught out of guard and therefore have no time to defend themselves, or - may the sky be cursed- one of them could arrive too late to save the other.
No, that couldn't happen: as long as they were together, they were the strongest.
It's been almost a year since they first met: fighting side by side for such a long time marks a person. Their connection was unmatchable, it was written in the stars, imprinted in their hearts as deep as their souls.
The paladin was tied to his cleric by a divine master, an unearthly force.
They seemed to have sensed each other ever since… even though they didn't even know their name, or age, or the face of the individual under the magical mist veil or even if they were a boy or a girl. The mystical transformation hides their appearance to everyone’s sight, even the reciprocal once. Yet, it didn't matter to them: as long as there were the two of them, they would be fine.
Their identity had to be a secret for anyone, otherwise they'd be in terrible danger.
The paladin looked at the person next to him, who was lying on the dirty concrete of the floor, with their violet tunic soaked in blood and dust. Their chest was lifting and lowering as they rested slowly, their breath finally stabilized and their back leaned on the wall behind them.
“Cleric?” he scoffed tiredly.
“Yes?”
“I need to move from here, I have to take the armour off” he affirmed, almost in a smug tone, which he was totally not feeling.
The cleric observed him as they could see right through him. Eyes never lie. They knew, They always do.
“Sure, let's go"
.
The two reached the area cleared by the elf's previous coming. It wasn't rare for the government to activate an alarm to warn the citizens about the hazards happening in a part of the city and to force them abandoning that area for a few hours; they were all used to those oddities: they had been living with monster attacks for several months now, and the city had been organizing itself pretty well in terms of security.
They entered a deserted bar; they needed to hurry and get back to fighting. They immediately headed for the bathroom, and the paladin opened the cabinet and closed it after him. Both of them sat, dragging themselves to the floor, leaning against the other's sides of the bathroom door.
The paladin removed his magic ring, and suddenly his armor vanished, along with his determination and stamina. Now that the weight of the metal he had been wearing for all that time was gone, all that remained was his own consciousness, already heavy enough, burdened with doubts and anxieties.
He clearly preferred being the Paladin, even though it consumed him drastically physically: the responsibilities he had as a warrior were certainly an easier focus to sustain than the pressures and responsibility of a teenager’s life, especially if that teenager was called Michael Wheeler. It made him feel free and in control, not easy to break. The Paladin's willpower was unmatched, compared to his boy-self: the soldier was the heart, the protector; Mike couldn't protect himself alone to save his life, not without the resilience and courage of his alter ego, and the only love he'd ever felt was towards his friends.
Well, of course it's no use not mentioning his "love" for the cleric, which was totally different from any other feeling he'd ever felt: the two were bound by an astral connection, sealed by destiny.
"Cleric?" Mike said hoarsely, as if awakened from numbness. "Are you still here?"
"Of course I'm here. Where on earth could I go, Paladin?"
Mike smirked and scoffed. “Silly"
"Are you okay? You didn't look great over there, like at all.” The cleric asked with a hint of worry that cracks slightly in their voice.
“Why, my cleric, do you enjoy so much to break my poor human heart?" affirmed mike in a solemn and playful tone. The cleric laughed, Mike could feel them rolling their eyes at his stupid joke.
“Insufferable idiot. You just looked kinda..off. Are you feeling any better? I know it could be a lot, we've been fighting for hours and paladin, you hadn't stopped a minute there. That's… that's not good, you know?”
Mike's heart skipped a beat for a second: he'd definitely used his armor more than he should have, pushing his body to the limit.
His companion didn't know that using his weapons that much would have had those effects on him. It was still obscure to him, and the cleric should never know. Never. He didn't want to argue with them about it, nor did Mike want them to somehow forbid him to fight.
They could easily make it happen with their magic, even though Mike was certain his friend would never use it against him. He trusted them blindly, like a swallow at the end of a flock trusts the one in front of it to avoid taking the wrong path during migration.
“Oh, yes. Don't worry, I was just tired, it's been a long day” said Mike a bit tensed, not lying, yet neither telling the entire truth. “I promise I will be back on track as soon as we leave this place" They need to keep looking for the elf and defeat it quickly.
“No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insinuate anything, just… be more careful about your own health conditions, please. I don't want you to be hurt in any way, you understand? You totally should be resting now. I’m able to dose my energy and my tiredness because of magic and I do know you're way tougher than me but..” The cleric's concern made Mike feel warm all over his face and chest. They truly cared about him. "you're allowed, you do know that, right?”
"Mh?” murmured Mike, confused.
"You're allowed to rest. You're allowed to take a break sometimes. Right now, for example. You're always in this constant rush… it won't work forever.”
Their words hit Mike like a knife in the stomach. “I- I know I'm allowed but.. we don't have time for that.” he said, with his eyes closed, not really wanting to catch up with reality.
"We do indeed. The elf is hurt, he needs to recharge too. It's not gonna do anything to the people here, they're safe for now. The only ones who are not safe are you and I at this moment, and as long as we're here together, we will be just fine.” Mike felt his shoulders finally relax. The cleric's words always had that comforting impact on him. "You're allowed to stop.”
The silence that came after his sentences was nowhere near embarrassing. It was soothing and peaceful, a place where his soul got to rest even for a bit. And for that moment, he could feel his heaviness melting, his mind regenerated.
"And thank you, though.” the cleric said after a few minutes.
Mike frowned in confusion, his friend didn't need to thank him for anything. “For what?"
"Well,” he scoffed. “for saving my life of course. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you so just.. Thank you. You're an amazing teammate and fight partner.”
Mike smiled, the affection for his friend made him grin and his cheeks blush. “Hey, come on. There's no need to thank me. We cover each other’s back, right? That's why we work so well together."
Mike swore he could feel the cleric’s wide smile by the other side of the door.
“Moreover, as I already told you, you're not getting away from me any time soon, my cleric. You're tied to my hip and absolutely not allowed to leave”.
.
They emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, Mike once again transformed into the paladin, his preferred form, and this time the burden he felt was significantly lighter.
They looked for the elf, returning to the place where he had disappeared: there was no sign of it anywhere, it seemed it had vanished once it had been injured. It was probably licking its wounds in a hidden, protected place, far from human sight.
They didn't know where the monsters went once wounded or killed; they simply disappeared and then reappeared some time later, stronger than before. In fact, they knew almost nothing about those monsters, but their mission was clear: to discover their source and kill it.
After a year of fighting, they were still far from their goal.
The prophecy surrounding them was, well.. unknown: it surely was about a hidden mind—which they called the Mindflayer—and two fighters united by destiny who would be able to defeat it.
The paladin and the cleric, however, were completely alone; until now they had simply defeated all the monsters the dark mind sent their way: the strange individual who had given them the powers and the magical objects —the ring, for the paladin, and the necklace, for the cleric—had vanished after assigning them their mission and explaining very little about this mysterious villain and the fragmented prophecy.
Everything they knew up to that point was the fruits of experience: the Mindflayer wanted their magical objects to dominate the world with strength and magic, and there is nothing he wouldn't do to achieve his goal and find them.
The fighters, however, didn't know how to track him down, so they just kept protecting the city, hoping for some responses.
"Hey, paladin," the cleric called him. "Look." They pointed to a wall in the alley, their eyes wide open.
The paladin approached to take a look and he ended up shocked.
On the wall in front of them there was a giant, deep scratch, as if someone had hollowed out the bricks to make a zipper, and from that scratch sprouted branches the same color as the elf's skin: midnight blue.
————————————————————
"I swear to God, and then she tried to run him over." Lucas leaned back on the marble fountain, his hands gesticulating intensively while he was telling them what had happened.
"She needs to be reported to the fucking police, I'm telling you. Why is she still teaching anyway?" Max commented.
They were sitting near the massive fountain in front of the university, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Jane, recounting the latest gossip about the art history professor at the school. It was a liberal arts college, after all, and three out of six of them attended that school in particular: Mike in creative writing, Jane in fashion, and Will in painting. They often met there, it was their lunch break meeting point, a sacred ritual that has persisted since they left high school.
Mike shuffled toward them and sat down heavily next to Dustin without even thinking too much about it; he saw Will frowning, a hint of confusion in his eyes.
He couldn't have looked good: that morning he'd rushed to get dressed, late as usual for his first class of the day, and he had quickly thrown on a flannel shirt and his usual dark jeans. The previous night's battle had exhausted him; as soon as he returned to his room, he'd practically passed out on the bed, unable to even move or shower. The whirlwind of emotions that had gripped him that day, combined with the fatigue of the actual fight and the heart-to-heart dialogue with his partner, had completely drained him of all energy: he wanted to be forgotten on that bed for the next four days.
Unfortunately, someone would come looking for him if he skipped class, and while it was sweet of his friends to be so thoughtful, sometimes Mike wanted to be alone and just recharge on his own. Obviously, this wasn't the case for Will. With him, everything was always much easier: the loneliness, the tiredness, the boredom.
The limited hours of sleep were affecting him morally and mostly physically. It could be seen in the black circles around his eyes that showed no signs of fading, in his -usually curly- hair that was now left limp softly on his shoulders, and in his missing rings on his fingers, except that one ring that could not be forgotten at home.
The group stared at each other for a few seconds when Mike arrived. “Damn Wheeler, you look like your cat threw up in your cereal this morning, what happened to you?” Max broke the silence.
“Yeah, dude, you look like- dead. Are you okay?” Mike sighed.
“Why am I always catching strays over here? I'm fine, the assignments just take so long. I'm tired, nothing to worry about.”
Mike was clearly lying. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it. He was curled up, as if he was trying to withdraw into himself. Now that he didn’t have his armour on, he felt naked in front of so many people watching him, nothing to cover him, nowhere to hide.
No one asked any questions, and they dropped the subject. In the meanwhile, Mike hoped his friends had bought the lie; he was too tired to come up with anything plausible. School was always the best option: it wasn't even a lie, he was indeed behind on all his assignments; exams were near, but he still hadn't got round to opening his books yet. He would think about it later.
“Oh yeah, we get it, man,” Lucas commented, seeming to believe it, or simply pretending to.
The conversation continued unbothered. On Friday there was like their weekly check-in: they talked about the classes they got, their teachers, clubs they got into, Lucas’s match of the weekend. Jane leaned against Max, who had her arms wrapped round the girl’s shoulders. That was the ordinariness, he felt safe surrounded by the people he loved, it was home.
In the end, MIke relaxed, the tension of that day dissolved as soon as he got more and more comfortable around his friends, as they were his secure space, where he could finally resign. However, he stayed quiet, listening to their talking. Their voices had a calming effect on him.
They didn’t even try to make him join the conversation and that was perfectly fine: they knew that when he wasn’t in a good mood, the best choice was always to let him be, he would engage in it as soon as he felt like it.
There was just one thing missing, one voice he eagerly wanted to hear, his fresh air, his sun.
Will had been silent all the break long, which wasn't totally weird of him but he’d been more quiet than usual. Although in the past he was used to be more reserved even with his closest friends -not with Mike though, never with him-, he slowly got used to joining the discourse quite often recently, making sarcastic comments or sharp observations with his gentle yet witty tone, growing more confident over the years.
Something was off.
Hence, he glanced over at him, to make sure everything was alright, searching his guard. Turns out he was already staring at him back with a strange look on his face. Mike raised an eyebrow, a question in his eyes. Will didn’t look away embarrassed for being caught as he was used to, instead he insisted on his gaze, as he was about to ask him a question he didn't want to answer.
This time, it was MIke’s turn to avert away, flushed cheeks, not sure how to interpret the intensity of his friend’s stare.
Lunch break was about to finish and Will had appeared on the verge of getting up and walking away for his afternoon classes when Dustin interrupted him with a question that seemed to catch him off guard.
“Hey guys,” he began, drawing the group's attention. “Did you hear what happened yesterday?”
“About what?” Lucas asked, confused.
“The attack.” Mike stiffened slightly, hoping no one had noticed.
“And what about that?”
“Hello? Earth to Wheeler,” Max scolded him, "where the hell is your mind these days? The Cleric had been injured. Didn’t you guys hear of it?" Mike's heart dropped. Of course he knew that, he was there when it happened.
"What?" Lucas asked.
"Oh yeah, I heard of it," Will participated disinterestedly.
How the others could talk about it so casually was a mystery to Mike, couldn't they see he was going crazy? The previous day had been a disaster and now that he was finally doing better, they just tossed it out so carelessly. Will’s indifference about that topic hurt him a bit, yet he couldn’t actually do anything about it, he could not explain why he cared that much. Therefore, he stayed silent, his nervousness dripping from his expression.
“Do you think he’s fine?” Mike didn’t know who asked that question, he was just staring into the void, waiting for the conversation to end as soon as possible. Their chatting continued and then he heard it.
“What if he’s dead?” Mike awakened, as he was obliged by an external force for those horrendous words. “They’re not.” He affirmed. Will looked at him, frowning in confusion at his firm statement.
“How’d you know that? No one said anything, the latest news we have about the paladin and the cleric are that they escaped from the monster with the cleric wounded. I bet those were poisoned arrows”
Mike heated up a bit at Dustin’s words. How dare they assume such bullshit about his friend. It wasn’t right.
Then, he remembered they actually do know nothing about them, that’s why they’re pronouncing harsh words on him and his friend: if they knew, of course they wouldn’t judge their actions. Mike calmed down a bit, yet still irritated.
“I’m sure they’re doing their best to protect the city, and I’m sure no one of them is severely wounded, otherwise we would have known. Plus, the monster withdrew, they must have defeated it.” When Will spoke, Mike’s indignation vanished.
“I second this, thank you Will.”
“Of course you second Will, what's new?” Mike frowned at Jane’s words.
“Hey, what does that even mean?” Jane giggled.
“Nothing, Mike” Will blushed from next to Jane, nudging her lightly.
“Hey Dustin,” Max asked. “how do you know the cleric’s a boy?” The question was legit. No one knew. How could they, if neither Mike did? He didn’t know if his partner was a girl or a boy and sincerely he didn’t care that much. However, the rest of the world did.
“Oh, uhm- I don’t know, I just assumed actually”.
“And that’s my entire point” Max was nearly yelling at that point. Mike and Will frowned at the same time and Will spoke, giving words to Mike’s thoughts perfectly, as usual.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that… assume, assume and assume. It’s all we can do. How could we trust those people if we know nothing about them?”
“She kind of have a point here,” Lucas said, supporting her. “We trust them blindly but why do they need to keep everything so hidden and secret? This is everyone’s business”
Mike’s heart skipped a beat. He knew they were right, he had always asked himself this question, Why? At least he knew why they couldn't share their secrets to the world, but just between them? What was the problem in that? Mike wanted to know who he was fighting with.
“I’m sure that’s a fair reason for that” Jane said, and the conversation dropped. But not the doubts in Mike's mind. Why? Why? Why?
.
Lunch break was over, and they all got up and headed their separate ways. Will approached Mike, who was still reeling from his doubts. It wasn't weird: after all, they were going in the same wing of the university.
“Hey" he said in a soft voice, the one Will's used to hearing.
"Hey Mike”
“I noticed you were staring back then, you wanted to say something?" he said, worried. It made him uncomfortable to be stared at that way, as he was discovering all of his secrets by looking through his soul.
He stopped, stumbling. "I-uhm. Yeah. Are you okay?”
"What?”
"You seemed a bit upset over there, more off than usual, are you okay?”
“Oh? No, yeah, totally okay. As I said, tired. Assignments.”
He hoped he could get away with it, let the subject drop, that way he wouldn't have to talk about the tiredness in his eyes and body. At least not to Will; he would spare him from that.
He actually felt the need to talk to him about everything: how the armor made him feel strong but, at the same time, how it would leave him every time it disappeared; how that daily dichotomy was slowly wearing him down, how his connection with the cleric was the only thing that keeps him going.
It was something he felt with Will too; thinking about it, him and the cleric were very similar.
He looked Will right in the eyes, his expression saying it all: he knew him too well and too deeply, he couldn't hide anything from him. Not from Will.
Well, nothing except one thing.
“Mike. Please. I can see that you're not doing fine. And it's not just the assignments’ fault; you're forgetting a lot of things lately.”
Mike sighed, his mind divided between appreciating Will's concern and panicking, did he forget something he promised to Will? No, he wouldn't.
He continued. "And I'm not talking just about your look or jewelry. Mike, Lucas told me you've already forgotten about several hang out you two had planned. What's happening to you? I'm a little worried."
Oh, right. That.
Mike didn't mean to worry Will; in fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but the frenzy he was caught up in recently was starting to take its toll: when he was Mike, he was more distracted, forgetful. He didn't want to hurt anyone with his actions, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with everything.
"Look, you're right. I'm not exactly well, but it's nothing to worry about, I promise. I just don't feel like talking about it, okay?" Mike didn't want to lie to him. Will peered him with an intense gaze, probably searching for the answers he was looking for. He didn't find them.
"Okay, but if things get worse, come over and talk to me about it, okay?" He put his hand on Mike's shoulder, comforting him; the warmth of his fingers passed through the layer of fabric Mike was wearing, sending a shiver down his spine. Mike smirked.
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Mike replied. Will’s eyes lit up with relief and understanding. He nodded.
“Good. Nice shirt, though.” And Will left with a grin on his face, already late for his class, leaving Mike there, wrapped in a wave of affection for his friend.
He looked down to glance at his shirt, to see what he was talking about.
His cheeks immediately flushed.
It was Will’s shirt, the one he was wearing.